


What Happens to Things That Don't Bend?

by blurryvine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bending (Avatar), F/M, Jon is very OOC, Mentions of Dany/Drogo - Freeform, Mostly from Jon's POV, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Underage, R Plus L Equals J, Slow Burn, Starts like the beginning of Game of Thrones but then quickly diverges from canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-21 05:26:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17636783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryvine/pseuds/blurryvine
Summary: Jon Snow grew up believing that he was a waterbender, a special trait passed down from father to son. Secrets begin to unravel all across the realm.





	1. Chapter 1

** Jon **

 

Ghost was still a puppy, but Jon felt like he had a lot to learn from him—yes, Jon felt like _he_ had a lot he could learn from the young pup. 

Since that fateful hunt in the woods with his father and brothers, Jon felt like his new direwolf pup was a gods-sent miracle, here to enlighten him on the ancient art of waterbending. Direwolves were fabled to have mastered the element long before even the Children of the Forest.

Of course, no one had ever seen a Direwolf waterbend—no one has laid eyes on a Direwolf south of the Wall in generations. Perhaps it was all legend.

They were in the Godswood, next to the pond and under the weirwood tree’s heedful watch and far away from judging sneers of other onlookers around the castle. The sooner his sixteenth nameday neared without any indication that Jon could waterbend, the higher the pressure turned. It was worse with the side-glances he received—from non-benders, no less. As if it wasn’t enough that he’d been ostracized his entire life for being the bastard of Winterfell. 

“It’s none of their business anyway,” Jon angrily splashed at the water, hoping that he could force himself to waterbend in any way. Rodrick Cassel, their waterbending master, always advised a calm and serene demeanor when bending the element. 

Sometimes that felt impossible. Jon felt like he had to be different because he only felt angry all the time. Whatever technique worked for Robb and Theon—even Arya!—wasn’t working for him.

Which is how he found himself with his direwolf at the edge of a pond, desperately trying new tactics.

“Teach me your old wisdom, buddy,” Jon knelt next to Ghost, scratching the white fur behind his ears as the young pup sipped from the freshwater pond.

Ghost looked up at Jon and tilted his head, giving Jon a look that spelled useless endeavor.

“What are you doing out here alone?”

Jon didn’t turn around at the sound of his brother’s approaching voice. He watched Grey Wind run up to his own direwolf and then the two took off running, his experiment over for now.

Jon sighed and pushed himself off the ground, “just showing Ghost around the castle.”

Robb nodded slowly, smiling like he knew what he was actually up to. Jon internally fumed. As much as he loved his brother, he couldn’t get over the resentment he had for Robb acquiring his waterbending abilities before him.

“Ghost can’t teach you to waterbend, you know,” Robb said slowly, like he was speaking to a child that might erupt in a tantrum in any moment.

“Oh yeah,” Jon replied, clearly unamused, “How do you know?”

Robb let out an exasperated breath, as if he’s been through this too many times. Jon wanted to roll his eyes. There was nothing that drove a larger rift between him and his family than the topic of waterbending.

“Because you already know how to waterbend, Jon! You’ve been practicing it your entire life, just like we all have.” Robb pursed his lips sympathetically, “Just waiting now for, you know…”

“The actual bending,” Jon said through gritted teeth.

He couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t angry all the time. Being a bastard was hardly the half of it these days. Jon’s illegitimacy had nothing to do with his potential to bend, which was an ability that had always been passed down from father to son. Despite his bastard status, Jon’s father was still Ned Stark; the blood of the First Men ran deep in the Starks, as did the art of waterbending. Growing up, Jon had hoped that becoming a waterbender would have bridged the gap that separated him from the rest of his trueborn brothers and sisters. No matter his social status, he would be able to show his worth as a bender. 

Which was why it was so important to him that he succeeded.

Robb sighed, turning to look at the two young direwolves running around the wood. 

“What made you bring Ghost out here, another one of Old Nan’s tales?”

Jon saw the beginning of a smirk on his brother’s face and joined along in chuckling at himself, deciding that perhaps his anger at his brother might have been misplaced.

“Theon, actually,” only admitting it out loud did Jon realize how stupid the idea was, “he was going on about how the Ironborn learned waterbending from great sea creatures such as krakens, explaining why the Greyjoys keep it as their sigil.”

Robb laughed out loud at this, “Jon, the Ironborn are descendants of the First Men. They got their waterbending the same way that we did, not from krakens or direwolves.”

Jon looked down at his boots, smiling in embarrassment, “He was messing with me.”

Robb slapped his back as he led them both back to the main grounds.

“It just would have been nice to get my waterbending before the King’s entire retinue arrived at Winterfell,” Jon said, unable to keep the sound of pity from seeping into his voice.

“Well, look at the bright side,” Robb said, “I heard Prince Joffrey can’t bend for shit either.”

Jon actually laughed, attracting the attention of the two wayward direwolves who returned back to their masters’ sides.

* * *

  

King Robert Baratheon had arrived at Winterfell with his entire family and a swarth of bannermen, knights, and riders. 

They were all in the Great Hall feasting while Jon was in the yard, running again through his practice techniques until he heard a loud groan.

Turning around, he saw a short man with a head of yellow hair stumble out of the hall and slamming the door behind him drunkenly, the soft glow of candles and violins playing muffled behind the door once more as the man strode up to Jon with a half-empty cup in his grasp.

Jon frowned at his drunken state but didn’t want to be remiss in his formalities, “You must be Tyrion Lannister, the Queen’s brother?”

He chuckled as he raised his glass up at Jon, “My greatest accomplishment. And you—you’re the _bastard_.”

Jon glowered and turned away.

“Oh, I’ve offended you?” Tyrion remarked sarcastically, “But it’s true, you are Ned Stark’s bastard are you not?”

“What do you want from me, _dwarf?_ ”

Tyrion laughed until he hiccuped, “Good, fight fire with fire.”

He took a closer inspection at Jon, “Practicing your waterbending?”

Jon said nothing, so Tyrion continued, “Not many waterbenders down South, it will be nice to have your father with us when things get dry.”

Jon rolled his eyes but Tyrion continued rambling, “No, just hordes of air and earthbenders. Gods, what terrible company. Earthbenders are always so rigid and stubborn, airbenders so…capricious.”

Jon frowned, “Your family comes from a line of airbenders.”

Tyrion raised his cup once more to Jon, “Guilty as charged.”

Jon didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have the highest opinion of airbenders. Disregarding the fact that his own father distrusted the Lannisters, airbenders always carried a reputation for being superficial. Perhaps that was just Southern culture as a whole, but Jon could never be able to relate to it.

“Have you met my brother, Ser Jaime?” Tyrion asked.

Jon shook his head and Tyrion chuckled, “Then you haven’t seen a _real_ airbender before you made your assumptions.”

“I wasn’t making any—”

“I’ve seen him take leaps so high you would swear he was flying,” the Lannister continued to brag.

Jon frowned, “Men can’t fly.”

Tyrion just gave him a pointed look, “Gods do.”

Perhaps there was more to bending than Jon could ever hope to learn.

“You may have more in common with us than you realize, young waterbender,” Tyrion said, trying to muster a smile but only making Jon glower further.

“Are you making fun of me?” Jon gritted.

Tyrion tipped back, his drunken state not allowing him to process the young man in front of him as well as he normally would. He studied Jon a little closer, “Oh, I see, you weren’t out here practicing your bending after all. My apologies. I will… leave you to it.”

Jon watched the youngest Lannister walk back into the Great Hall to rejoin the rest of thefeast. He took a deep breath to calm himself and reflected on the conversation. He didn’t believe Jaime could fly for a straight minute. But then again…hadn’t he been dedicating the last several weeks to discovering new waterbending methods? Perhaps there were more secrets about the elements than most people knew. The possibility that Jaime Lannister could fly was…not incredible, Jon thought. 

* * *

 

Prince Joffrey was a couple years younger than Jon and Robb, so it was not unusual that he hadn’t fully acquired his firebending yet. The Prince didn’t mention anything about that, though. His firebending master—a nonbender who had studied the techniques his entire life—had only said that he did not wish to see any bending in any of the training sessions with the Prince. 

“Good,” Robb had said, “Imagine if Joffrey blasted me with a fire ball or something and deformed my face forever?”

“The ladies would cower at your ghastly appearance for the rest of your life,” Jon warned him seriously.

“Worry not, young lord,” their waterbending master walked up from behind them, “Our Prince would have to be an exceptional firebender at his age to achieve a feat such as a fireball. And judging by those skinny arms…”

Both Jon and Robb chuckled.

It turned out that watching other people dueling was not as boring as Jon had dreaded it to be. Sitting on the edges, Jon got to watch legends like Ser Barristan the Bold demonstrate earthbending and Ser Rodrick deflect his hits with his own advanced waterbending.

Arya was giddy next to him.

“I can’t wait until someday I’m in a fight with an earthbender—or several of them—and they’ll all be throwing their rocks my way—”

“Just rocks?”

Arya scoffed, “I didn’t say they were good earthbenders, cut me a break. Anyway, I’ll drown them in their own tears.”

Jon burst out laughing, attracting the attention of other standbys before settling down once more. 

“Why aren’t you over there training with them?” Arya asked as both of them watched from the sidelines, the two outsiders in their family.

Jon smiled cheekily, “Bastards aren’t allowed to hit at princes.”

Joffrey and Robb were circling each other with their arms held out in front of them, but Joffrey’s fists were balled up like he was about to start throwing punches.

“Gods, he’s going to be a disaster.” Jon muttered.

Theon chuckled and both Jon and Arya jumped, surprised to see him close by, leaning against a wooden pole munching on an apple as he too watched the spectacle.

“Well, they’re not really bending,” Arya said, looking back at the pair, who began dancing around each other—Robb more gracefully than the Prince. Joffrey was huffing like he was supposed to be in a fight while Robb pranced around him, deflecting his opponent’s hits, preserving his energy—water dancing.

“Good thing,” Jon muttered, “That would be _some_ firebending.”

“I thought only the Targaryens could firebend,” Arya asked Jon as they watched more.

“Prince Joffrey is a Baratheon,” Jon explained, “the house was started by—”

“A Targaryen bastard,” Theon interjected, “So you’re right, Arya.”

Arya and Jon both shot him dirty looks.

Theon shrugged, not flinching over his use of the word. He stepped closer to the two, “It’s true, Orys Baratheon married the last Storm Queen and started a line of firebenders that lasted to this day.”

Arya gasped excitedly and turned to her brother, “See, Jon! You can do anything.”

Theon snorted, “Highly unlikely. Orys Baratheon was Aegon the Conqueror’s brother _and_ a firebender. Jon _Snow_ can’t _bend_ his own piss—”

He was silenced by Jon’s hands unexpectedly grabbing the collar of his tunic, but the smile on Theon’s face only grew wider. This was exactly what he wanted from goading Jon.

“Jon,” Arya hissed, not wanting to draw attention to the two boys.

“Is that what you do, cockroach?” Jon narrowed his eyes up at Theon, “When you’re alone you find entertainment in waterbending your piss?”

Theon’s smile faltered slightly as he pushed Jon back, roughly shoving him to the ground.

A rage within Jon erupted as he jumped back onto his feet and aimed his fist at Theon’s jaw, but the other boy ducked away and Jon ended up throwing his full force at nothing, his fist punching the air as he fell over once more.

It seemed like chaos erupted after that and Jon wasn’t sure what led to what. Out of thin air, a scorching ball of blue fire rolled across the dirt ground, blazing a trail of flames from the two bickering boys and stopping right in front of Ser Rodrick, who immediately sprung into action and sprayed water over the flames. 

Everyone in the yard turned their attention to Jon and Theon, both on the ground, who looked the most stunned of all.

“Jon,” Robb exclaimed, staring at his brother incredulously, “Did you just _firebend?_ ”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos on my last chapter!

** Eddard **

 

Among the privileged few with the ability to bend an element, firebending has always been the rarest of them all. Bending has been a secret kept sacred within the ruling class, as those who acquired the skill typically rose to great power and kept the advantages to themselves. However, the trait was always passed down from father to son, so it was not unusual to find lowborns with the potential. 

The ability to bend fire originated with the ancient dragonlords of Old Valyria, and many of its secrets died along with the Doom. Although there were some who escaped destruction and preserved the art of firebending, the practice was largely lost hundreds of years ago along with the greatest empire in the world. 

Unlike legends concerning any other of the elements, firebending had a clear, known history. Firebenders learned their art from mimicking their dragons and then passed the trait down from father to son—as all bending was done. Only those who could conquer a dragon could master its tricks of breathing fire. The dragonlords of Old Valyria treasured this skill so much that they dared not to risk it by diluting their blood with nonbenders—they insisted on keeping the “blood of the dragon” pure by intermarrying with firebending kin to preserve their magic. 

Firebenders today were unique in that they could all trace their ancestry back to the dragonlords of Old Valyria. In Westeros, that typically meant a descendent of House Targaryen.

Firebending didn’t just appear randomly in young boys. Especially not a boy with a waterbending father.

And that is what had Robb stumped so hard.

 

Robb shook his head, sitting across from his father, “I know what I saw. I was dueling Joffrey. He didn’t firebend shit. I don’t care what the Queen says and frankly I don’t know why you’re siding with her…”

“Robb!” His mother scolded.

“I saw Jon firebend with my own eyes and I want and explanation,” Ned’s heir demanded.

Ned grew uncharacteristically angry, “You didn’t see anything, Robb. I don’t know where that fire was, if it was Joffrey or if it was spilled lighter fluid in the mud.”

“But the flames were _blue!_ ”

Ned stood up, slamming both his hands on his desk, “Enough of this! Go to your room, let me think.”

Robb flung his chair back and stormed out of the room while Catelyn eyed her husband warily, afraid to say anything that might sour his normally cool temper further. 

They were in the Lord’s office, where he usually conducted matters of the North’s business and any other matter that required his attention. Ned retreated here after an “argument” erupted in the training yard, which resulted in a “great ball of fire” in the middle of a duel between his son and the Crown Prince. 

Queen Cersei, who was apparently present watching from the balcony, witnessed Prince Joffrey firebend and loudly applauded him. Ned had half a mind to ask her why she would encourage her son’s attempt to shoot fire at his son.

Ser Rodrick and Robb’s accounts of the event were wildly different. The waterbending master was convinced that “one of the younger boys” had played a prank and tried shooting a flaming arrow at the prince, who was not well-liked among the children at Winterfell. He had been watching the Prince with a critical eye and was sure of the fact that he was not the source of the fire. He had no reason to suspect anyone else.

And Robb was convinced that it was Jon.

Ned sighed and leaned his forehead into his hand while his wife sat silently across from him. Who knew what she thought of all of this…

“Ned.” She said at last.

He put his arm down and looked at her.

“Let me come with you to King’s Landing.”

Ned’s eyebrows shot up; this complete change of subject was unexpected. Though they had been discussing his new assignment earlier, Ned thought that recent events called for more urgent attention. Of course, Catelyn had no way of knowing how serious the situation actually was since—thankfully—no one had seen or believed that Jon had firebended except for Robb.

“You saw what happened today. Queen Cersei fanning the flames of her impetuous son. Who knows what kind of malice that boy will ignite? And as Hand it will become your job to temper him.”

Ned regarded her words.

“I just don’t think it will be safe for you down there,” she shook her head, trying to suppress an outpour of her emotions. 

“We can’t leave Robb alone here at Winterfell,” Ned said quietly, looking down at his intertwined fingers on the desk. “He needs guidance now more than ever. Everything is changing.”

“Sixteen years ago, you rode south with Robert Baratheon,” Catelyn said icily, “and came home with another woman’s son.”

Ned nodded solemnly. It seemed that he would be paying the price for his promise sooner rather than later. 

 

* * *

 

 

When Jon entered the Lord of Winterfell’s office, no one else was present except his father sitting behind his desk.

“Have a seat, Jon.”

Jon did as he was told and sat down with his hands folded on his lap. 

Ned could feel Jon’s anger radiating off of him in waves as he sat in front of him, refusing to meet his father’s gaze.

He rubbed his chin, pondering how he would start this conversation.

“No one is mad at you. I should have told you, so you could have been more careful. Sometimes firebenders need to be more cautious of—”

“So you always knew?” Jon looked up, his eyes filled with rage as he stared at his father. His hands gripped the arms of his chair to keep himself from shaking. “Every day as I struggled to waterbend, you just sat back and laughed knowing that I would never be able to do it, didn’t you?”

“Jon, you don’t understand, you weren’t supposed to—” Ned took a deep breath, “No one was supposed to find out. Firebending is not a common gift.”

Jon scoffed and shook his head, “So who _is_ my father? Not you.” His tone was more accusatory than curious.

“No.” Ned looked down, “Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Jon’s expression blanked.

“But you are a Stark.” Ned reassured him, “You may not have my name, but you have my blood.”

“It’s all been a lie, from the start!” Jon cut him off, standing up. 

Ned reached his arm out, growing concerned, but Jon shook it away and stepped back. “Now hold on, Jon, you need to calm down. We can move past the one incident in the training yard, but if someone else finds out—”

“They won’t need to, I’m leaving Winterfell.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m going with Uncle Benjen to the Wall to take the Black.”

Ned’s eyebrows shot up in surprise; this was the last thing he expected. He shook his head in confusion, “I don’t understand, I just told you that… The Wall is no place for a boy! It’s not safe there.”

“I’m not a boy, I’m a man now,” Jon insisted, alluding to his newly acquired bending.

“You can’t firebend at the wall.” Ned insisted, “Jon, there is a reason I hid you up here all these years. There are people who wish to see you dead!”

“So I’ll be safer at the Wall,” Jon concluded, pushing his chair out so he can walk out with ease.

“I’m not finished speaking with you!” Ned yelled with frustration as Jon made a beeline for the door and slammed it shut on his way out.

Taking a moment to recollect his cool, Ned exited his office and marched towards the direction Jon left, eager to set things straight this time. The howling of wolves stopped him in his tracks.

He paused to look out of a nearby window in the tower, frowning at the strange occurrence. It was twilight and not many people still roamed the yard outside.

Ned’s lady wife came running down the tower steps from their bedchamber. 

“Ned, I have a bad feeling!”

Together, they rushed out of the castle and saw others trying to discern the origin of the trouble. More dogs were chiming in to the howling, barking along with the wolves.

A small group of people crowded around the base of the broken tower, trying to get a look at something. “Look how far away he fell!”

Ned could suddenly feel every drop of blood pounding in his ears as he rushed to the scene and a woman yelled, “Someone call the maester!”

Ned cut through others to see the fuss.

His son, Brandon, laid broken on the grass as his direwolf stood guard nearby and howled in agony.


	3. Chapter 3

** Jon **

 

Bran’s fall from the tower couldn’t have come at a better time.

There was no more need for discussion whether Jon could go with Benjen to the Wall. With all the chaos that ensued after Bran’s injury, Jon was free to do as he pleased.

He felt bad, of course, that his brother had been hurt. But Maester Luwin said he would live and that’s all Jon needed to hear. 

 

“My brother told me what happened,” Benjen said to Jon as they readied their horses.

Jon sighed, fastening his bag to his saddle, “I’m sure there’s not a soul who hasn’t heard in the castle by now, though I’m getting a couple different versions…”

“No, not about the…incident,” Benjen corrected, “About your conversation. You didn’t let him explain.”

Jon shrugged, “What is there to explain? He’s not really my father. Are you really my uncle?”

“Shh,” Benjen’s expression shifted, turning very serious. “This isn’t a joke, Jon. It’s not a game, it’s your life—it’s all our lives. He didn’t claim you as his son for fun. He did it to protect you. Don’t betray his work; he risked everything—to the safety of his family—for you.”

Jon snorted, “For me? Or so that his best friend Robert could be king?”

With all this new information unveiling about his identity, it was hard to believe Ned thought of Robert as a good friend if he couldn’t even be honest about Jon’s firebending with him. Everyone kept saying Ned was only trying to “protect” Jon, but what kind of friend is one that you have to protect your children from?

“I thought Prince Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Lyanna. House Stark fought alongside Robert to bring the Targaryens down.”

“It was probably a little more complicated. But when my brother Brandon went to the King to demand Lyanna’s return, Aerys killed him and my father both.” 

Jon nodded slowly, already familiar with the story, but feeling a bit stranger knowing now that he had familial connections on both sides. A grandfather burning another grandfather alive. Was Jon doomed to follow the footsteps of his mad firebending forebears?

“Where we’re going is dangerous—the Wall is filled with unsavory characters, constantly threatened by wildlings beyond.” Benjen said, “But where your father heads South now is arguably more so dangerous. The Lannisters cannot to be trusted. Ser Jamie broke his oath to his king and stabbed him in the back. Lord Tywin ordered the deaths of Princess Elia and her children—innocent babes. Don’t begrudge your father for his decision to keep you safe by hiding your true identity. It was a bad time to be a Targaryen.”

Jon nodded slowly and a thought came to him.

“But some of them survived, right? Rhaegar’s younger brother and sister, what happened to them?”

Benjen shrugged, “Somewhere in exile across the Narrow Sea.” 

 

* * *

 

Robb came to say his last goodbye.

“Have you bid farewell to Bran?”

“Yes,” Jon lied. Bran was unconscious in his room with Lady Stark—Jon was simply avoiding a needless confrontation with the ice woman. Bran would hardly notice his absence. What good would it do to intrude on an unconscious boy other than to rile the torrent of his grieving mother?

“He’ll make it, I know he will.”

“You Starks are hard to kill.”

“My mother doesn’t seem so convinced that it was an accident.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, not too interested in the conspiracy theories of the woman who’s scorned him his whole life.

“She thinks his fall was too far out from the tower to be a just just a random fall. She thinks airbending must have been involved.”

Jon scoffed, “Does she suspect the Lannisters?” 

Robb shrugged, “She seemed pretty single-minded that he couldn’t have fallen on his own.”

“He is a good climber,” Jon agreed, “But if the Lannisters were truly behind it, they wouldn’t be flashing off their bending moves. What reason do they have to murder our brother?” 

Robb shook his head miserably, “I don’t know. Perhaps it was an accident—the airbending, I mean. Sometimes mastering control of the elements is easier said than done.”

An uncomfortable silence enveloped between them as they stood by Jon’s readied horse. Robb looked down and pursed his lips as if he was mustering the courage for the next thing he wanted to say.

“Jon, the other day… What happened? With the fire.”

Jon looked away “What did _Theon_ tell you?”

Robb shook his head, “He’s a stubborn as you. Won’t say anything.”

Jon climbed atop his horse, hoping to find his uncle and escape this conversation.

“But I won’t say anything either!” Robb said quickly.

Jon took ahold of the reins, “It’s like you said: controlling the elements is easier said than done. Farewell, Stark.”

Robb nodded dejectedly, “Goodbye, brother.”

 

* * *

 

Tyrion Lannister was among the small company of men riding for Castle Black.

“What makes you want to ride all the way to the Wall?” Jon asked him as they rode side-by-side.

Tyrion shrugged, “The tallest structure known to man, made by man? Come on, Snow, you’re the one taking the Black. What’s got you leaving Winterfell to ride towards one of the world’s greatest wonders?”

Jon shrugged, “Change of scenery.”

Tyrion chuckled, “I suppose, if you’re looking for something a little colder than _Winterfell_.”

Jon said nothing for a while, listening to the hooves of his horse crunching the snow underneath as they rode further north. Tyrion glanced over at him, probably mistaking Jon’s normal facial expression for a bout of deep brooding.

“If your brother does wake up, he won’t need use of his legs to become a waterbender.”

Jon raised a skeptical brow, so Tyrion continued, “A terrible accident, I’m sure, but don’t pity the crippled. The beauty of waterbending is that it doesn’t rely on lower body movements or techniques. He wouldn’t be set far apart from his peers.”

Jon frowned, “How do you know so much about waterbending.”

Tyrion shrugged, “That’s what I do. I drink, and I know things.”

Jon thought for a moment; something Lord Tyrion said to him a few days ago still bothered him.

“What did you mean when you said airbenders and waterbenders have more in common than you think?”

Tyrion smiled ahead, “I didn’t mean their bending styles, if you were hoping for some tips. I meant personality-wise.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, “How does your bending affect—”

“Everything,” Tyrion explained, cutting him off, “water is the element of change; its benders are malleable—fluid, if you will, like the flow of a stream.”

Jon frowned. This didn’t describe him at all.

“Airbenders don’t have the same sense of community as waterbenders,” Tyrion continued, “We’re spread out all over the place, our origin is not as well-chronicled. But everything I know about being a good airbender—though I do not practice the fine art myself—depends on the flexibility of the bender and finding the path of least resistance.”

“That does sound similar,” Jon acquiesced.

Tyrion nodded proudly.

“Why haven’t you cared for airbending, my lord?”

Tyrion shrugged, “Wasn’t really my forte—nor my father’s, truthfully. My siblings are much better than I am.”

Jon tried to imagine the stoic and regal Queen Cersei airbending. Perhaps there was more to her than most people knew.

Tyrion chuckled next to him at some memory that he must have had, “My sister… She is the perfect example of adaptability…and biding her time.”

Jon wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he utilized the direction of this conversation to his advantage.

“The Queen’s son is a firebender.”

Tyrion grunted in affirmation.

Jon continued, wanting badly to understand if his own anger was borne out of frustration from not being able to waterbend, or if it was simply the personality he was doomed to embody. “Is that different, according to your personality assessment? I mean, how does Prince Joffrey’s demeanor fair compared to the rest?”

Tyrion pursed his lips, “Well, everyone knows that firebenders are passionate and ambitious. The history of our country can prove that. From my experience with King _Robert_ , his temperament can oftentimes resemble…a volcano.”

Jon frowned.

“But that’s not to say it’s the norm,” Tyrion continued, “His brothers Stannis and Renly conduct themselves…with greater control.” 

Jon wasn’t encouraged by that answer either. Tyrion shrugged.

“I don’t think we’ll ever know about firebending as much as we do our own elements. The Valyrians were masters of the magic and, after their demise, only the Targaryens attempted any effort to preserve the little knowledge they had. And now they’re gone, too.”

_Not all of them_ , Jon thought.

 

* * *

 

They made camp for the night. One of the other Black Brothers set out to fetch firewood while Benjen stayed close to the other recruits he gathered from his journey.

“Rapers.” Tyrion had explained to Jon.

Jon didn’t feel pity, he felt disgust. He thought about what his life would be like at the Wall, with brothers forced to take the black in lieu of worse punishments. 

He thought of his uncle, who would have to pick up his brother’s burden of concealing Jon’s identity. Benjen was probably already pondering—dreading—ways they could continue on with the narrative that Jon still hadn’t gotten his waterbending, seeing as he couldn’t firebend at a wall made of frozen ice. 

Jon would spare him the worry. The next morning when Benjen woke up, Jon would be gone. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for everyone who left kudos or comments! There's a bit of a time skip since the last chapter to account for ~travel time~

** Cersei **

 

The King’s retinue finally returned back home to King’s Landing after a long and tiring journey. The Queen sat with her son in her solar, spreading a tonic cream over his bite wound as he looked at the scar angrily.

“It’s ugly.”

Cersei wrapped a cloth around the freshly coated wound, “A king should have scars. You fought off a direwolf. You’re a warrior, like your father.”

“I’m not like him,” Joffrey said bitterly, “I didn’t fight off anything, the stupid Stark girl waterbended my sword out of my hand. Her wolf bit me and all I could do was scream.”

“That’s not true,” Cersei asserted, “You killed the beast with your firebending.”

Joffrey looked up at his mother skeptically.

“When Aerys Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, your father was a rebel and a traitor.” The corners of her lips curled up, “Someday, you’ll sit on the throne and the truth will be what you make it.”

He considered her words.

Cersei glanced down at her son sympathetically, knowing that some of his grief was her fault. If her brother had not fathered her children, then they would not have to live in this fear of being caught and branded illegitimate. But the alternative was worse—if Robert had sired her children, she might never have had Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. 

And the world didn’t need any more firebenders.

 

* * *

**Jon**

 

Finding the last Targaryens wasn’t as hard as Jon expected it to be, especially since one of them was apparently having one of the grandest weddings on the continent.

Blending in was a little harder to do. Jon had nothing except for the clothes on his back, as most of his sparse belongings were rendered useless as soon as he found a ship sailing east and escaped the bite of the cold.

Jon stuck out like a sore thumb, adorned in dark leather and wool from head to toe. He parted with his fur cloak ages ago but, looking around at everyone dressed in loose and flowing robes, he didn’t feel any cooler.

The fact that he looked Westerosi probably helped him get inside, though. Unsullied guards were posted at all the entrances and even though he couldn’t speak Valyrian, they understood “King Viserys” well enough to reckon that he was one of his guests. Having no weapons on him was a good idea.

He followed one of the men towards the courtyard of the manse where the wedding feast was being held. The frantic beating of drums grew louder as he approached the feast until he was met with a sight that truly sent him into a culture shock.

Men and women were shaking their bodies in a manner that could liberally be passed off as dancing. He watched a woman get grabbed from behind by a man with a long braid and subsequently taken on the ground—they were going to do that… _here?_

Jon was physically unable to close his jaw, wide open in shock.

He turned away and shook his head, trying to shake the image out from his mind forever. He grabbed the person nearest to him and yelled over the drums, “I’m looking for the King.”

The Dothraki man he had spoken to looked down at him and frowned. Perhaps he didn’t understand him. Then he said something in his own language and pointed up at a raised dais where a large man and petite silver-haired woman sat overseeing the rest of the wedding goers.

“Thank you—” Jon began to say, but the man was gone. He looked up at the bride and groom and noticed another head of silver sitting nearby. 

Viserys Targaryen. Perfect.

 

* * *

 

Watching from a safe distance, Jon observed the bride and groom greet notable guests one after the other leaving him little opportunity to make his move. 

He found his chance after the conclusion of the bedding ceremony—if that’s indeed what it was. No one was undressed or carried up to a bedroom in the manse. Instead, guests gathered around the bride and groom to send them off as they rode away on their horses. 

He took advantage of the lull in festivities to approach his uncle for the first time.

Viserys had gone back to his original seat, back on the dais next to the other guests of honor. The music slowly resumed and food left untouched from the bride and groom's table was served to the remaining guests. 

Jon approached Viserys and bowed. 

“And who might you be?” A finely dressed man with braids in his white beard sitting next to the king asked. Jon looked from Viserys to the old man; he must have been the Pentosi magister that he heard about, who had orchestrated this whole affair.

“My name is Jon Snow, Your Grace.” Jon looked back at his uncle, “I’ve travelled all the way from the North to speak to you today.”

“You’re at a wedding, young man,” the Magister told him. “It is customary to bring the bride and groom a gift.”

“My gift is information.”

Viserys raised a manicured silver brow.

“I have recently discovered that Robert Baratheon has no trueborn heirs. His children are the illegitimate lovespawns of Queen Cersei Lannister.”

Viserys sat upright in his seat, immediately intrigued.

“The realm will descend into another war once the nobles learn of this treachery,” Jon continued. “I am sure Robert’s brother Stannis will put forth a claim the throne and, once he does, the country’s instability will be a perfect time for your own attack.”

Viserys’s face donned a full grin now as he stared at Jon like he was a messenger sent from the gods. Illyrio seemed more skeptical—not of the information itself, which seemed plausible, but of its source.

“Your Grace, let’s not be so hasty as to trust the word of a stranger just because it might be words we like to hear.” The magister said hesitantly, glancing at his king and then looking back at the boy who seemed to throw a wrench in his plans. “Why should we trust you?” 

Jon nodded at the reasonable question. “Because I have met _Crown Prince_ Joffrey Baratheon, who hardly resembles the King. He doesn’t even have his firebending.”

Illyrio narrowed his eyes at Jon, “Who are you?”

“My name is Jon Snow, I’m…King Robert’s bastard son.”

Illyrio’s eyes lit up and Viserys’s expression changed to a frown, “If you’re the Usurper’s whelp, then why come all the way here? Why not just wait for this war that you’ve foreseen to come true and stake your own claim?”

Jon shook his head, “Robert has two younger brothers. No one would ever seat a bastard on the Iron Throne. And besides, no one in House Baratheon has ever acknowledged me, I was raised in the North and have no connection nor loyalty to my real father.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, “Then what do you want?”

_I want to be a bender._

“I want to help you take back the Iron Throne for House Targaryen and then, when the Usurper’s _family_ is vanquished…perhaps you will need a new Lord of Storm’s End.”

Viserys seemed to consider his words. Jon had contemplated long and hard about who he would confess his identity as when he met his uncle. He wanted to be as least threatening as possible, just in case Viserys was more power-hungry than he expected. He thought that perhaps claiming to be a son of Rhaegar—even baseborn—might have been more intimidating (and less believable) than a bastard of a king whose legitimacy the Targaryens didn’t recognize anyway. He could always play it off that he had no love for his father and that he had come to Essos to seek revenge of sorts.

It wasn’t completely a lie.

“Hold on a moment,” Viserys said, “How do I know for sure that you are who you say? You could be a spy.”

Jon nodded and held up his palm to generate a small, blue flame. Firebending was the rarest of all the bending forms. How often did someone impersonate a Baratheon?

Viserys smiled.

 


End file.
